


Father and Son

by amyfortuna



Series: 2016 Season of Kink (Card 1) [19]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Father/Son Incest (roleplay), Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sexual Roleplay, Substitution, Underage Sex (roleplay)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:25:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: What's the truth behind the sexual roleplay game that Fëanor and Fingolfin play?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fulfils my Season of Kink square for roleplay.

Fingolfin leaned lightly against the doorjamb of Fëanor's study and crossed his arms, getting into character. The lamp on Fëanor's desk showed him rubbing at his eyes while trying to scribble something down in increasingly shaky Tengwar. Fëanor's hair was uncombed and the robe he wore was wrinkled. He had probably not moved from that exact spot for several hours. A tray sat further back on the desk, holding an empty plate and waterglass. 

After a moment, Fëanor looked up, and a smile, anticipatory and hopeful, crossed his lips. He lay down his pen. "Dad?" he asked. 

"My beautiful son," Fingolfin replied, mimicking the cadences of Finwë's voice. "I'm here to take you to bed." 

Fëanor yawned, stretching out his arms over his head sleepily. "But I'm so tired, Daddy, can you carry me?" He flashed a quick hopeful grin in Fingolfin's direction. He wasn't half as tired as he was pretending to be. 

Fingolfin moved forward into the room, carefully stepping around stacks of scrolls to be sure he wasn't disturbing them. "Anything for my precious treasure, my darling little boy," he said. Reaching Fëanor's chair, he bent down and kissed him lightly on the mouth. Fëanor put his arms around Fingolfin's neck, and his head against his shoulder, as Fingolfin bent further, lifting him under the knees and the upper back. 

The palace halls were all but empty of people as Fingolfin walked through carrying Fëanor. It was very late, and silver flooded through the large windows, creating pearly-sheened lakes of shining light on the smooth marble floors. 

"It's past your bedtime," Fingolfin whispered, and Fëanor pouted a little, fluttering his eyelashes. 

"But I like staying up with you," he said. "Will you cuddle me, Daddy?" 

"Anything you want, my sweet son," Fingolfin vowed, and pressed a kiss to Fëanor's forehead. 

When they reached Fëanor's suite of rooms, Fingolfin gently laid Fëanor down on the bed, and began carefully removing his clothing, starting with the light sandals he was wearing. Fëanor watched, allowing himself to be moved here and there as Fingolfin pulled off his robe, laying it over a chair, and tugged his leggings down and away. Fëanor was hard, but Fingolfin ignored his erection for the time being, though they exchanged a mischievous, not quite in character, glance that acknowledged it. 

Once he was naked, Fingolfin removed his own clothing quickly, then went to fetch a washcloth and a pitcher of water. "We have to keep our little boy clean," he said, as if he was explaining it to a child. "Just look at you, how dirty can one boy get while playing?" He carefully washed Fëanor's feet, then bent to nip at a toe whilst Fëanor laughed and squirmed. "Mmm, delicious toes!" He rinsed out the washcloth and cleaned Fëanor's hands, scrubbing away every inkstain, then up and under his arms. Fëanor giggled lightly when Fingolfin pressed his face to the sensitive skin underneath his arms, pretending to be shocked at how he smelled, but in reality enjoying the scent of him. 

Fingolfin trailed the washcloth over his nipples, following it with a quick lick to each, then down to Fëanor's groin. Fëanor let out a sigh of relief as Fingolfin dropped the washcloth at the side of the bed, and took his cock in hand. "Not so very little anymore, my son," he said, "but it looks like you have another need that must be soothed before you can sleep. How would you like Dad to take care of this for you?"

"Daddy, this is a very big problem!" Fëanor said, fighting back a smile. "Will you play horsie for me, can I ride you? I think that will fix it." 

"Okay," Fingolfin said, "but you have to help Daddy get ready for you to ride him." 

Fëanor rose up, turning them both over so that Fingolfin landed on his back in the middle of the bed. "Daddy needs a good clean too. I'm happy to help!" 

"That's a good boy," Fingolfin said, patting Fëanor on the head as he dipped down and sucked Fingolfin's cock. "Such a talented, clever boy. I have the best son ever!" 

Several years ago, their relationship had started off much more tumultuous and uncertain, with Fingolfin only certain that he had to tell Fëanor of his more-than-brotherly love, unsure if he would be humiliated in rejection. Fëanor never held back in castigating those he thought foolish, and Fingolfin's greatest fear was that he would be thought one of them. 

Much to his surprise, Fëanor had looked him up and down when he made the offer, and then accepted, with a hint in his eyes of something Fingolfin could not quite interpret. The sex had been lovely, but when Fëanor came, he'd cried out one word that instantly gave the game away, "...Dad!" 

Fingolfin came harder than he ever had before, hearing that. Later, wrapped in each other's arms, Fëanor told him everything - all the longing for his father's love throughout his life, all the reasons he resented Fingolfin's mother, and all the ways in which Fingolfin looked exactly like Finwë. For the first time, Fingolfin understood his brother. Understood, and still loved, with a love that could not be quenched or broken or shattered. 

With time, their love developed. Fingolfin found that Fëanor enjoyed being taken care of, coddled and soothed, liked the chance to pretend that he was a child again, while at the same time knowing all the pleasures an adult body could bring them both. They played their games with a wink and a laugh, trading jokes like love tokens, sparkling wit like sweet confessions. 

And so it was tonight. With his cock in Fëanor's mouth, with the prospect of Fëanor on top of him, riding him to both their pleasure later on, Fingolfin was soaring with lust and love mingled together, warm and happy. 

When Fëanor mounted him, sliding down onto his cock, Fingolfin held up his hands for him to brace himself against, thrusting up into him steadily and strongly. 

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy," Fëanor whispered, rocking back and forth on him. "Love you, Daddy." 

"I know," Fingolfin answered. "I love you too, son." It was always the sweetest agony saying this, and knowing Fëanor was hearing it from other lips, would come thinking not of him but their father. 

Fëanor's eyes met his, burning with lust, and he came, spilling over his own hand, mouth open, breathless moans falling from him. Fingolfin thrust into him twice more and came inside him, closing his eyes, pretending that the loving words Fëanor was whispering were all for him. 

Fëanor wrapped his arms around him as he slid down onto the bed. "Nolo," he said softly, not opening his eyes, "how much of a fool can one person be?"

"What?" Fingolfin said, taken aback. 

"I love _you_ , too." Fëanor poked him in the chest, grinning. 

"Oh. I - . Oh." Fingolfin could not restrain his smile.


End file.
